Page 21 of The Caress

Not entirely, anyway.

More than anything, I also want to keep her safe. That reason is bigger and more important than any other leftover feelings I might have for her.

"What would you be doing if you’d gone back to New York like you’d planned?" I ask, curious to know just how different her life might be without me in it. "In an ideal world, I mean. If you could do anything you want."

She doesn’t hesitate. "I’d start a dance school for young girls. I’d make sure it was affordable to families of all different backgrounds and financial means."

I stop massaging her leg for a moment so I can study her face while I take her words in. "I can picture that pretty easily. You’re great with kids. you wouldn’t have made it into the New York Ballet if you weren’t a serious, skilled, talented dancer. Seems like it might be a thankless job, though. One where you probably won’t earn nearly as much as you deserve."

She shrugs. "It isn’t always about the money, Keir. And I’m sure it will be thankless at times, but think about all the times you’ve seen Isla’s face light up when she learns something new or when she tells you about something she’s accomplished."

I automatically find myself smiling as my thoughts turn to my daughter. "So not totally thankless," I say, digging a little deeper and looking past my initial doubts. "Seeing that look on a young face would be pretty rewarding all by itself, I’d imagine."

"Exactly. Spending so much time with Isla has only made me more determined to find a way to make my little dance school idea a reality."

The more we talk about it, the more I realize just how perfectly suited she is to that sort of work. And, as usual, it’s another indication of how different we are. My first thoughts instinctively went to profitability, sustainability. longer-term scaling opportunities, but I was totally overlooking her reasons. Her priorities. Her dreams.

"I have faith in you," I say, meaning it. "I know without a doubt that you can and will make it happen."

Her expression softens, and I can’t help myself. I gently ease her leg down from my lap, then move up to sit next to her on the large rock. She leans in and makes a tender, contented sound in the back of her throat as our lips meet.

I could live forever and never get tired of the way she tastes or the way her body melts against mine every single time we kiss. She’s intoxicating in a way I can’t explain or justify. I just know that the more I try to deny my feelings for her, the more desperate I become.

"You make me want to be a better man," I whisper.

"I think you are a great man," is her answer. "Not a perfect man, but great nonetheless."

A flurry of movement and a flash of light from the corner of my eye break the quiet, magical moment and leave me with that familiar feeling of rage bubbling up as I recognize the photographer from earlier.

"You son of a bitch," I growl, standing up and moving to block his view of Ella. "I’m gonna smash your fucking camera against these rocks." I lunge toward him. "Then I’m gonna smash your fucking face."

"Keir!" she calls out after me, but I’m already chasing him as he disappears around the edge of the waterfall. "Keir, stop. Please! It isn’t worth it."

My fists are clenched, and I have to make the split-second choice between chasing after him and going back to take care of Ella.

It isn’t a choice at all, of course. Not really. The last thing I’m going to do is leave her by herself with an injured leg while I chase down some piece of shit photographer.

Still, that bastard had better hope I don’t see him again. He might not get so lucky if we cross paths a second time.

CHAPTERNINE

ELLA

The sound of unfamiliar voices puts me on edge as soon as I make it down the stairs. It’s still early enough that I could easily sleep for another couple of hours, but I want a little time to myself before Isla wakes up and the whirlwind of planning her day begins.

I love her as if she were my own little sister. I also love the fact that she and Joy seem to be video-chatting almost every single day, but being a live-in nanny is exhausting at the best of times. I’ve learned to guard and cherish every minute of quiet solitude I can scrape together.

Which is one of the main reasons why my teeth are clenching at the sound of so many extra voices coming from the kitchen first thing this morning.

The other reason is that every time I’ve come across a stranger over the past week or so, they’ve either tried to take my picture or kill me. I’m not exactly in a hurry to find out which category these new people will fall into.

Who are they?

What are they doing?

Why are they even here?

Once I make it to the kitchen door, I stop and lean in, cocking my head to the side. I’m close enough to make out their individual voices now. I belatedly realize they aren’t strangers at all.

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